


What we are together

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, prison era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Being with Daryl Dixon is a lot like taking a shower in a house with last century plumbing. Hot and cold are vague concepts. The majority of the time, it’s all very lukewarm, pleasant and safe, but sometimes, unexpectedly, the heat becomes scorching to an almost painful degree, or the temperature drops to sub-zero levels. Frequently, these two things happen in rapid succession, with no rhyme nor reason behind the change.Rick Grimes learns to navigate the waters of his relationship with Daryl.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 188





	What we are together

**Author's Note:**

> This story was supposed to be just a short PWP porn set in the prison. It was supposed to be about Daryl realizing he might not hate bottoming as much as he thought he would.  
> What it turned out as is... not that.  
> At least it's still mostly PWP porn, but with feelings, some angst and some self-discovery. I hope it's enjoyable!*
> 
> *because me? I hated writing it, I hate writing smut, I'm so damn bad at it, but I had to get it out of my head.

Being with Daryl Dixon is a lot like taking a shower in a house with last century plumbing. Hot and cold are vague concepts. The majority of the time, it’s all very lukewarm, pleasant and safe, but sometimes, unexpectedly, the heat becomes scorching to an almost painful degree, or the temperature drops to sub-zero levels. Frequently, these two things happen in rapid succession, with no rhyme nor reason behind the change. Daryl can be prickly and untouchable at one moment, then downright cuddly the next without any warning in between. 

Had Rick known their relationship would be like this from the start… well… he probably still would have kissed Daryl in the guard tower on that beautiful summer night three months ago, with the full moon and starry sky as their sole witnesses. Even then, he knew that Daryl Dixon was a complicated man. He was very well aware of what he was getting into. 

Still. 

There are days - most days, in fact - when nothing seems to have changed from when they were simply friends and brothers in arms. It’s not by Rick’s choice; Daryl has a very strict policy of keeping their relationship to themselves. Right from the start he told Rick, in no uncertain terms, that if he told anyone, it would be over between them.

“I ain’t gay,” he claimed after that first kiss was just a nice memory followed by many more kisses stolen in abandoned rooms and unfrequented hallways, “and this ain’t what it is. Okay?”

And Rick agreed, mostly because Daryl’s hand was very firmly wrapped around his cock at the time and, truth be told, Rick would’ve agreed to anything in that precise moment, just as long as Daryl kept doing _that_ and kept his fingers where they were. 

So Daryl’s not gay. And they’re not, like, _together._ Rick can accept that. Over the last three months, he’s become very good at acceptance. He’s also learned to predict the hunter’s moods ahead of time. He can mostly tell if Daryl’s going to welcome a kiss when they’re alone, or if he’s going to shy away, turn his head or just plain leave to go on a hunt without a word. Of course, he misjudges sometimes, and has to face the consequences; Daryl’s short temper might’ve calmed over time since they first met in the quarry outside Atlanta, but it’s still very much present when the hunter is agitated. They don’t argue, though. Daryl doesn’t shout at him or anything. He just grabs his crossbow and storms off into the woods without as much as a glance back, and returns a day later with enough meat to feed the prison for a week, acting like nothing ever happened. 

Daryl rarely initiates anything between them. It’s almost always Rick who kisses him, Rick who finds some deserted place where they can grope each other if Daryl is amenable to the idea, Rick who wants to try new things. Daryl either lets him or doesn’t. More of the latter than the former, although that tendency is slowly changing to the better, as far as Rick’s concerned: as soon as Daryl learned Rick is perfectly happy to be the, well, the _taker,_ in their new relationship, he’s started to relax and become less likely to flee. 

But he’s not talking about it, and sometimes, Rick begins to understand why his own inability to talk about feelings used to frustrate Lori so much. It’s like there’s a wall between them, and no matter how high Rick climbs, when he looks up, the wall never seems to get any smaller.

“If the dead never started walking, do you think we’d still end up like this?” Rick asked once, when the two of them volunteered to keep watch together for the night. He was comfortable, wrapped in a blanket, head leaning against Daryl’s poncho-covered shoulder. 

The hunter chuckled, but it didn’t sound amused. If anything, he sounded bitter when he said, “Nah.”

The dismissal hurt more than Rick wanted to admit. He thought about asking Daryl to clarify, but the hunter didn’t wait for him to find the words: he pushed at Rick’s chest, easily repositioning him to lie down on his back, and kissed him all hard and demanding. 

Rick forgot all about the question for a long time, after that. 

*

Carl knows about them. Not because Rick wanted to tell him - he really didn’t, and not only because of Daryl’s ultimatum - it’s just that kids tend to be more sneaky than adults on account of their lighter build, and Rick and Daryl were thoroughly distracted by each other, and inadvertently, Carl saw things he probably didn’t want to see. He obviously misinterpreted what he saw, too, which was why Rick had to tell him the truth. 

How could he not, after his son approached him with a serious, bothered expression and asked, “Dad… is Daryl hurting you?”

They were out working at Rick’s little vegetable patch, which at that time was still more of a pet project than a real garden. Nobody else was out there in the mid-afternoon heat of early September, which made it one of the only times Carl could’ve caught his father out alone. Coincidentally, Daryl was on a supply run with Michonne and some others, so he wasn’t there to keep Rick company or watch him with careful eyes like a dutiful guardian angel of sorts. Which must’ve been what Carl wanted.

“Where’d you get the idea?” Rick asked, surprised by the sudden show of concern which to him seemed out of nowhere. He couldn’t think of one thing in his or Daryl’s behavior that would suggest what Carl was asking about. Heck, he couldn’t think of anything pointing towards them being anything but good friends!

“Well, I… I _sawyouintheboilerroomlastnight,_ ” Carl says very fast, looking away and blushing furiously. 

Rick blinks. “You… saw us in the boiler room last night,” he repeats slowly. The blush spreading on his own face must match Carl’s. “Okay. And what is it that you think you saw?”

“He was holding you down… and I didn’t see much, the door wasn’t closed all the way so I saw through the crack, but he was doing something bad, wasn’t he? I mean, you made those pained sounds… and then later I saw you had a bruise on your neck and I thought he hurt you, and it’s not like Daryl, but people change, like before Shane wouldn’t have hurt you either, but then-”

“Carl. Breathe,” Rick instructed softly. He put a calming hand on Carl’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. “I promise you, what you saw and heard wasn’t Daryl hurting me. Remember how I kept complaining about my neck hurting all afternoon yesterday? Daryl gave me a massage,” he explained. It was partially true. Daryl did rub his sore shoulders and neck very thoroughly, working out the tense knots in his muscles with his big, strong hands. Hence the noises Carl heard. The bruise, however, came from a completely different activity, and Daryl definitely didn’t make it with his hands.

When Rick saw Carl still appear unconvinced, he made the split-second decision to tell him the truth. Because his son was not a small child anymore and he deserved to know if something important was happening in his father’s life. Especially if that knowledge might help assuage his fears about his father’s safety.

“Me and Daryl, we’re sort of seeing each other,” he admitted, choosing the words carefully. 

It was Carl’s turn to blink now. “You’re gay?” He asked, surprised.

Rick was briefly tempted to deny it like Daryl always would, but… the truth. He was supposed to tell Carl the truth. “I think so, yes,” he said slowly.

And it made sense, all of a sudden. It explained why Lori was the only woman he’d ever dated while, on the other hand, he always used to harbor crushes on his male friends, Shane himself unfortunately included. It explained why his alone-time fantasies seemed to prominently feature hard muscle and big hands instead of soft curves and gentle touches. It explained, especially, why Rick was so willing to explore everything there was to explore with Daryl while with Lori, they’d only ever done the most basic _insert tab A into slot B_ stuff, no matter how much he’d loved his wife.

Shit, it’s no wonder Lori chose Shane over him in the end. At least Shane probably wasn’t covertly gay all this time, even if he _was_ covertly a murderous bastard.

“Dad… you know I don’t mind, right?” Carl assured, looking up at Rick intently. “I need to think about it and um, get over it, but that’s just ‘cause I didn’t expect it, okay? It’s just new. But you’re still my dad, and Judith’s dad, and uh,” his blush darkened. “I love you, dad, no matter who you’re dating. And I guess Daryl’s okay. If he’s really not hurting you,” he added sharply.

Rick chuckled, then shook his head, feeling a bit overwhelmed by his son’s reassurance. He ruffled Carl’s hair, like he used to when his son was just a boy, and said, “Daryl wouldn’t ever hurt me. I promise.”

*

And it’s true, Rick supposes even now, two months after that conversation with his son, three months after the first kiss between him and Daryl. It’s true what he said to Carl, but there’s a catch that almost makes the whole reassurance seem like a lie. The problem is, Daryl would never hurt him _deliberately_ \- of that, Rick has no doubt. But this thing, the hot-then-cold treatment, the relentless denials of any _superfluous_ feelings between them, the vehemence of Daryl’s claim that he’s not gay: it’s a bit painful to be on the receiving end of it all. Especially when Rick’s feelings don’t _feel_ superfluous. He’s in love with Daryl, has been for a long time now. It would be okay if Daryl didn’t feel the same; it would hurt for a while, but Rick would get over it, like every man in history whose advances were rejected. But it’s not that simple.

No. Daryl has to feel some sort of way about him, too. Otherwise, why would he respond to Rick’s attempts to seduce him with such passion? Why would he watch him all the time, why would he stay so close, touching him at every opportunity? If he didn’t feel anything, if he wasn’t at least a bit gay, none of that would make any sense. A straight man wouldn’t willingly have sex with another man just to, what, show his loyalty or some other ridiculous idea like that. At least not without a significant amount of revulsion to be seen on him. Yet when they’re together, Daryl seems anything but repulsed. So Rick isn’t fooled. He knows it’s not just him. 

But Daryl keeps denying him.

“Ain’t in the mood,” he mutters, pushing Rick away, although at least he’s gentle about it. It’s a lazy afternoon and they have the library to themselves for the foreseeable future because everyone else is outside, making use of what’s likely one of the last warm days this year. 

Rick sighs, attempting to hide his disappointment. It’s been two weeks since they last had a chance to be intimate, and honestly, he can understand low libido, he doesn’t even think his is very high to begin with; but when they’re not actively doing it, Daryl acts like being with Rick this way is a chore. Like he’s being forced to do it, to perform some sort of task to, what, keep Rick happy?

To be honest, Rick’s getting tired of being put in this position. 

“You know what, me neither,” he says, and really, he’s not even lying. His mood’s soured significantly. He adjusts his sweater, rumpled from his thwarted attempt to get Daryl to embrace him, and straightens. “I think we’re done,” he adds, and he’s proud of himself for not letting his voice tremble even a bit.

Daryl looks at him through a squint, a measuring gaze like he’s not sure how to interpret what Rick’s just told him. Like it’s even open for interpretation. It’s not: even though it hurts, even though it’s not something Rick wants, they’re through. This whole _being not-together_ thing is obviously not working out, and really, Rick’s been putting up with it for long enough, hasn’t he? A whole three months of Daryl acting like kissing Rick is something he only goes along with for Rick’s benefit.

For crying out loud, Daryl’s the one who took their relationship to the next level. He’s the one who got so turned on from _kissing,_ he pushed Rick into the mattress and dry-humped him until they both came in their pants like teenagers. Before that, whenever they made out, it usually ended with Daryl fleeing and Rick working out his frustration in the shower. And afterwards, after that first time? Daryl became bolder and the next time, their pants were out of the way before any orgasms. Then the next time, Rick went to his knees for Daryl and blew him like nobody’s business, and in turn Daryl fingered him until he came, shuddering and breathless, and- Well. That wasn’t the last time things took a turn in _that_ particular direction, even though so far they’ve never gone any further than fingers.

It’s all on Daryl, though. Daryl’s the one who made their times together so intense, is what Rick’s thinking. He’s the one who actually toppled them towards the _really gay_ territory. It’s really unfair of the hunter to make it seem like kissing Rick is the last thing he ever wanted to do. So he’s not taking it anymore. 

“Wha’cha sayin’, Rick?” Daryl asks in a low voice. He looks vaguely threatening like this, with his stormy blue eyes so narrowed and his lips stuck in an unattractive frown. 

“I’m saying, we’re done,” Rick repeats firmly. “This… not-gay thing, this, whatever the _fuck_ it was to you. It’s over,” he adds, and moves to leave the library in case his resolve breaks. He reasons with himself, this is the best for them both. Daryl obviously isn’t comfortable with their relationship being anything else but just a sort of fucked-up friendship with benefits, and Rick isn’t happy with how things are between them either. It’s better for everyone - for them, for their family - if they just go back to how they were before Rick went for it and kissed Daryl in that watchtower. 

He’s almost out the door when suddenly, Daryl grabs him by the arm and forcefully drags him back, shoves him against a bookshelf and roughly captures his mouth in a kiss which is more fight than caress. He presses his tongue between Rick’s lips parted in shock, and he holds Rick in place, going so far as to growl into his mouth when Rick attempts to push him away. It’s nothing like the kisses they shared before, it’s nothing like what kisses are supposed to be. On Daryl’s tongue, Rick can taste desperation and fear and anger, too, and it’s stifling. He thinks this must be the first time Daryl’s ever initiated a kiss out of anything but the need to change the topic of conversation, and even if it’s not a good one, Rick will be damned if he lets it go to waste. So, against his better judgement, he makes himself respond to the kiss, letting Daryl in, allowing him the domination he obviously requires. He can sense the difference immediately in how the arms holding him captive relax and the grip on him becomes less oppressive and more - protective? The kiss itself becomes less frenzied as Rick coaxes Daryl into slowing down, into giving back instead of just taking, into softness and gentleness and the simple pleasure of kissing somebody he loves-

“What do ya want from me?” Daryl asks after finally drawing back a small distance, still too close to allow Rick to escape. His breath is labored and his eyes are dark.

Fortunately for both of them, Rick no longer wishes to run. “It’s not about what I want,” he says, and he lifts a hand to bury it in Daryl’s shaggy hair at the back of his head. He likes how it’s getting longer lately, enough that he can run his fingers through it when Daryl is amenable to his advances. “I just wish,” he tries and pauses. What is it that he’s trying to say? Can he say it, or is he too cowardly to risk the consequences?

Damn it all to hell.

“I just wish you’d let me love you,” he finishes on a sigh, and prepares himself for rejection because it’s not like he can expect anything else, based on their track record.

Daryl doesn’t outwardly reject him, though. He tenses, and he averts Rick’s gaze, looking away to the wall like he’s hoping there’s an answer to his problems in there somewhere, but he continues to hold on to Rick as if he were a flight risk. 

“This… ain’t supposed to be ‘bout that,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Can’t be ‘bout that, Rick.”

“Why not?” Rick asks. “Hey. Look at me, okay? I’m not… judging you, or anything. I just want to understand. At least help me understand.”

He doesn’t say that Daryl owes him that, because he doesn’t think Daryl owes him anything at all. If someone owes somebody here, that would be Rick. He couldn’t count the number of times Daryl saved his life, protected him and his family, risking his own physical and emotional well-being in the process; Rick wouldn’t ever be able to repay the debt he owes his hunter, who’s never had a lot and who’s lost so much still. 

God, the last thing Rick wants is for Daryl to feel an obligation to do anything, especially where it concerns their relationship. 

“‘s just… ‘s not you, okay? ‘s nothin’ like that. I’m the problem, not… not you,” Daryl says, and he’s still not looking at Rick, but his voice is soft, warm. “I know what I am, an’ I know what I look like, yeah? Ain’t exactly pretty like a lady, ain’t never wanted to be, neither. Can’t act much like a replacement for Lori. Wouldn’t be fair to her, or the kids. So I been tryin’ to just, ya know. Be me, but I know it ain’t good enough, so really, I think I been hopin’ you woulda just gave it up. And now ya did, an’ suddenly, I don’t wanna let ya go, and-”

“Daryl,” Rick breathes. “Look at me,” he demands, and there must be enough authority in the tone of his voice because Daryl bites his lower lip and looks at him, finally letting their eyes meet. It’s a surprise for Rick to see Daryl’s on the verge of crying. He knows the hunter can get emotional, he remembers him after Merle, remembers consoling him; but usually, Daryl pretends to be above such things. It grieves Rick to see him like this, knowing that he’s at least part of the reason the man he - the man he loves - that _he_ is why Daryl is hurting.

But maybe he can do something about that hurt. 

“I don’t want you to replace Lori,” he says as calmly as possible, even though his mind is racing and he’s worried one wrong word will send Daryl running again. “That’s not what I want. Lori was my wife, and I loved her, and she’s gone. I made my peace with it. I don’t need anybody to replace her.”

“Then… what’d ya need from me?” Daryl asks. 

Rick rubs at the back of the hunter’s neck gently, and lifts his left hand to brush his fingers against Daryl’s jaw. “Only what you’re willing to give,” he assures, even though what he means is _everything._ “I need you to stop trying to compare yourself to Lori. What we have, it’s different to what Lori and I had, and, Daryl, I don’t want it to replicate my marriage or, whatever it is you think I’ve been trying to do. I’m… well, I’m in love with you, if you haven’t noticed. And my previous marriage is completely irrelevant to it.”

“‘s not,” Daryl protests. “‘s not irrelevant, don’cha see? ‘twas normal, ya bein’ married to a woman. Now there’s not much choice so ya think yer in love with me, but that’s just ‘cause we work good together, and ya trust me, but when a nice woman comes along-”

“Daryl, Lori was the exception, not the rule,” Rick interrupts him. “I don’t think there’s any real danger of a woman coming along that would threaten your position. Hell… even if Lori were still alive, I don’t think anything would be different. We weren’t good for each other. Me and her, we were over a long time ago.”

“What, so ya really gay now?” Daryl asks incredulously. “Like what, you been married twenty years, but were secretly a fag behind wifey’s back? That what ya sayin’?”

Rick rolls his eyes, recognizing how the insult delivered in a haughty tone is nothing but a defense mechanism. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I’m gay. Have been for a very long time, and I have no idea who told you you’re not attractive, but to me, Daryl, you’re absolutely _fucking_ perfect,” he admits. He smiles at the way Daryl’s eyes widen at the swear word, and he licks his lips before asking: “So what will you do now, darlin’?”

He’s not sure what sort of reaction he was expecting, but certainly the hard bulge in the front of Daryl’s jeans pressing insistently against his thigh wasn’t it. What’s also surprising is that Daryl leans in, sort of like he wants to kiss his jaw, but instead he hides his face there in the crook of Rick’s neck and breathes in.

“So ‘s not just ‘cause there ain’t nobody better?” He asks softly, his voice barely audible, muffled by Rick’s shirt. He exhales loudly, inhales again. “And if people know yer… gay, ‘s alright with you? Ain’cha scared what they’re gonna think of ya?”

Rick shakes his head no. “I think we all have bigger problems nowadays than who does what with whom,” he says. 

Daryl’s hands tighten a little on Rick’s hips and he nods almost imperceptibly. “Ain’t never been like that for me before,” he mutters. 

Rick doesn’t say a thing, hopeful that Daryl may be opening up to him; he doesn’t know a lot about the hunter’s past, about his life before the dead started walking. He’d seen the scars - obviously, though never in any intimate situation. He wonders now, is there a relation between the testament of abuse on Daryl’s back and the denial he’s been in when it comes to their relationship. Rick can imagine how the environment Daryl originates from might not have been very open-minded about such matters; he knew Merle Dixon in all of his bigoted glory, after all. Daryl is a whole world of a better person than his brother could’ve aspired to be, but he still lives in the shadows cast by Merle Dixon’s opinions of him. Knowing this makes Rick irrationally angry. He wishes he could’ve had a good firm talk with Merle about the shit he did to Daryl. He wishes he could’ve had the time to fix things without causing Daryl any more unnecessary pain.

“I… can’t do this, Rick,” the hunter whispers, even though he’s still holding Rick so close and breathing him in. His hands are shaking, so Rick takes them in his own.

“Talk to me,” he all but begs. “Tell me what to do so I can help you.”

Daryl chuckles humorlessly into his shirt. “Ain’t so easy,” he murmurs. “Never been good at talkin’ about shit. Ain’t never been no-one interested to listen.”

“It’s different now,” Rick assures him, and rubs the insides of Daryl’s hands to comfort him. “I’m here. I’m gonna listen.”

Daryl just continues to lean against him, like he can’t bear to let Rick go, but he doesn’t speak for the longest time. In fact, Rick’s starting to give up, convinced he’s going to have to let this go even if it really means nothing between them will change - and then, so soft that he’s barely audible at all, Daryl says:

“Merle always said there’s one thing he wouldna forgave me. He sorta accepted that I don’t like women. Hated it, called me all sorta shit, but said I’m his lil’ brother first, even if I’m a fuckin’ queer. Ain’t… ain’t even been that, y’know, ain’t really liked a man before- before you,” he pauses, and Rick can easily imagine the blush spreading across his face. The image in his mind is adorable, though if he ever hopes to see Daryl’s embarrassment in real life, he knows he can never share this opinion with the hunter. 

“So ya see, he kinda accepted if I was a faggot, an’ all that, even though he was wrong. He beat me up from time to time, to beat the gay outta me, sure, but it never got all bad. But one thing, he said he’d never accept. No Dixon would never take it up the ass, he claimed, an’ he said, I ever so much as looked sideways at a man, made any hint I wanna have a cock anywhere near my ass, he’d fuckin’ kill me hisself. Dixons ain’t sissies. His words, not mine,” Daryl finishes, and his hands clench into fists under Rick’s fingers.

“Well, that don’t gotta be a problem,” Rick says, trying to make light of the words, to pretend he’s not bothered by Merle’s particular brand of bigotry. He could never understand what people like that found so strongly emasculating in enjoying being the taking party in a gay relationship. For him, from the moment he first acknowledged his undeniable attraction to other men, the possibility of being on the receiving end of _that_ was nothing but intriguing. Sex is supposed to be about doing what feels good, not about upholding some impossible standards to appease someone raised in the shadow of toxic masculinity.

Or something.

“It sure is a fuckin’ problem, okay?” Daryl grumbles, and suddenly takes a step back, disentangling himself from Rick’s loose embrace. He moves away, starts pacing around the limited space between the bookshelves. “It wouldna been a problem, yeah, but then ya had to go an’... and fuckin’ enjoy it so damn much. Fingers, I mean. Them damn noises ya made, it made me curious an’ so’s I tried to do that to myself. Thought, no way’s a big deal, yeah? No way it can be that good.”

He pauses mid-step and looks straight at Rick with the haunted eyes of someone who went through the most terrible torment.

_“It_ _is that fuckin’ good,”_ he says, voice almost sorrowful.

Rick frowns, at that. He’s not sure he heard right. Because if this whole thing… this whole problematic thing between them, could’ve been something much, much better if only Merle Dixon hadn’t put his load of crap in Daryl’s head like that, well. It’s a good thing Merle’s already dead, or Rick would’ve gone out to put a bullet or two in him for good measure. 

“Daryl,” he says firmly. “Daryl, it’s okay. It’s okay to enjoy things in bed. It don’t make you any less manly or anything. Don’t make you any less of a badass,” he assures, though he’s not sure how successful he is because Daryl looks away again and won’t meet his eyes. He sighs. “Do you think I’m a… what’d you call it… a sissy? Is that what you think I am?”

“What? No,” Daryl says, and scoffs.

“And yet I don’t mind, how’d you call it again?… _Taking it up the ass,_ ” Rick replies steadily. 

Daryl’s face reddens. “Don’cha say that,” he mutters.

“Why not?” Rick asks. “I’m not ashamed of liking things. It’s nothing shameful. I’m gay. I want to have gay sex. If you want to fuck me, I’m more than fine with it,” he adds, his voice going deeper with the profanity. It makes Daryl swallow visibly, blushing even darker. Rick likes having this effect on his hunter. Even more than that, though, he likes the thought that Daryl’s telling him things. Daryl’s willing to work it out. It means something. 

It means everything.

“I… want that,” the hunter mutters shyly. “And… and the other thing. Ya know.”

Rick nods and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Daryl’s mouth. “You can have it,” he says. “All of it. Anything you ask for, it’s yours.”

Daryl sighs. “Need… time,” he breathes. “To get it right in my head. I can’t. Can’t do any of that today, alright?”

And even though he’s more than a little disappointed, Rick does his best not to let it show. He reminds himself, Daryl talking to him about their relationship at all, it’s progress. He’s waited a long time for his hunter to come around. He can wait a little longer. It’s not all about sex, even though it’s apparently much more of a big deal than he used to think. Still, he’s not going to suddenly make it about getting off, because that’s not as important as Daryl simply… being with him. Wanting to be with him, for the right reasons. 

So he smiles and gently brushes his thumb against the soft fuzz on Daryl’s chin. “You know where to find me, when you’re ready,” he says. 

Daryl bites his lower lip, then nods. He plants a quick, awkward kiss on Rick’s cheek, then turns on his heel and heads to the exit, not once looking back. 

*

Never before, not even when they were still somewhat hostile strangers back in the quarry, did Rick feel like Daryl was avoiding him at all costs. It’s the worst outcome he could’ve expected and the thing is, he didn’t predict it. For some reason, he’d hoped the hunter would carry on as usual. That their easy friendship wouldn’t be affected by the sudden shift in their intimate relationship. Daryl used to keep these two things separate, and he got Rick used to the same mindset, so now that he’s suddenly withdrawing himself from any form of interaction with Rick, it’s… painful. Confusing as hell, too. 

And people are noticing.

“What have you done?” Carol asks after dinner, sitting beside Rick on the seat normally reserved for Daryl. It hasn’t been occupied for the last week. Seven whole days! Yeah, Rick promised he’d be patient, promised to give Daryl time, but it’s proving really difficult when the only reason Rick knows Daryl’s still alive is because nobody’s come to tell him otherwise. He hasn’t seen Daryl at all over the last week. It’s been driving him crazy, one day at a time.

“I’ve tried to get him to tell me, but he’s as stubborn as a mule,” Carol adds, shaking her head with exasperation. “Now I know you’re no better, but I can be stubborn too, when need be. So you will tell me: what have you done, to make him like that?”

“Like what?” Rick asks, alarmed. Is something wrong with Daryl? If he made shit worse with his pushing, if he somehow hurt Daryl, he’ll never forgive himself. 

“What, you haven’t noticed?” Carol asks, quirking an eyebrow. The tone of her voice betrays her impatience. “Come on, you must’ve noticed. He’s not here! He keeps to himself all the time. Won’t talk to me, won’t talk to anyone. Goes out hunting for hours without telling anyone he’s leaving. It’s like he’s reverted back to the man he used to be at the quarry. Only it’s worse this time, because we already know that’s not who he is.”

Rick tries not to show how much it hurts him to hear the news. He asks: “And what makes you think it’s my fault?” - but inside, he feels himself choking up with guilt. Of course it’s his fault. He’s the one who couldn’t stop pushing, and now he might’ve pushed Daryl away forever.

_God, please don’t let it be forever._

He’s not sure he can survive without Daryl anymore. Not because Daryl’s their best hunter, or that he’s their best tracker, or that he’s loyal and dependable and deadly in a fight; it’s been a long time since Rick measured Daryl’s worth in how much the man could contribute to the group. It’s Daryl’s shy little smiles Rick can’t survive without. His surprisingly naughty jokes, told with a blush and a smirk on the guard tower during shared watch when neither of them could sleep. It’s the way Daryl’s eyes would linger on Rick sometimes as he rocked Judith in his arms, a look of affection in them which he would try to deny if anyone caught on to it. Desperate kisses in the dark where nobody could see them, easy camaraderie shared in the light of day, the late-night conversations about silly things they used to like in the world before, the scars on each of them and the stories of the past they wouldn’t share with anybody else.

And Rick might’ve ruined the best friendship he’s ever built with anyone, all because he thought too much with his dick.

“You’re the only one he really cares about here, besides me and your kids,” Carol says. 

Rick looks at her, frowning.

“So, you know. Unless it’s Judith somehow offended him, I think it’s obvious it’s got something to do with you.”

With a sigh, unable to pretend otherwise, Rick nods. “I said some shit to him. Pushed him into stuff he don’t want. I thought we were fine, or would be, but I guess not.”

Carol gives him a piercing look. “What are you saying?” She asks coldly. “Because, I can’t reconcile what I know about you, what I thought I knew, with what you seem to be saying.”

Rick blinks, thinks back to the words he said, then blanches in horror. “No, my God, I didn’t,” he assures quickly. “I would never- Fuck. Carol, I swear I’d never do that to anyone, least of all to him. God.”

There’s silence between the two of them for a moment, before Rick speaks again. “I don’t know how much he tells you,” he says, “but Daryl and me, we’ve been… a thing, for a while.”

He feels vaguely guilty for the confession because Daryl didn’t want anyone to know, but when Carol just nods, he realizes it’s not news to her. Which means Daryl must’ve told her - or they weren’t as clandestine about their relationship as Rick believed. 

“I tried to break it off, a week ago,” he continues.

That gets him a look of surprise. “Why?” Carol asks. There’s genuine curiosity in her voice now, no judgement, which Rick takes for a good sign.

“I thought that was what he wanted,” Rick admits softly. “Most of the time, he acted like he hated it. Hated me, for wanting to kiss him. I thought I’d be doing him a favor.”

“So he’s heartbroken,” Carol concludes, but Rick shakes his head.

“We didn’t actually break up,” he says. “We talked, and he said some stuff about his upbringing, and. I said some stuff, too, and I thought we came to an understanding. He wanted some time to process it, so I agreed, and,” he sighs on a long exhale. “That was the last thing we said to each other. I haven’t even seen him since.”

When he’s finished talking, Carol seems deep in thought. She hums and nods to herself, then smiles up at Rick with something like relief.

“I guess he’s just not done processing it,” she decides. “What a stubborn, stubborn man. I’ll go find him, try to kick his ass in gear. You think you can wait for him a little longer?”

Rick blinks. “I’ll wait as long as he needs,” he promises. “I don’t want him to feel pressured into anything-”

“Oh, pish,” Carol scoffs. “He’s a big boy. It’s time he started acting like one, don’t you think? And anyway, he needs someone to act as the voice of reason for him. Better me than whatever voices of the past he’s got stuck in his head.”

She smiles at Rick and pats him on the forearm. “Thank you for telling me about this,” she says. “And, just so you know… If you ever hurt him, and believe me, I’ll know if you do. If you ever hurt him, I’m going to kill you.”

Somehow, despite the smile and the gentleness of her voice, Rick has no doubt Carol won’t hesitate to act on her threat if she has to. He vows to himself never to give her reason to. Not only because she’s vaguely terrifying:

He wants to see Daryl happy, and he wants to do everything in his power to make sure it happens.

*

Nine hours after the conversation with Carol in the dining area, Rick startles awake to the sensation of gentle fingers running down his jawline. His cell is completely dark, but Rick doesn’t need to see to recognize the callouses on Daryl’s fingertips or the woodsy scent lingering on Daryl’s clothes. He keeps his eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep in an attempt not to scare the hunter off, but of course he knows the act to be futile: there’s no way Daryl hasn’t noticed him waking up. 

“Carol threw a knife at me today,” the hunter murmurs softly, brushing a thumb against Rick’s cheekbone. 

Rick opens one eye with a frown, and Daryl chuckles. “She missed,” he adds, then takes a deep breath. “Rick, I-”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Rick interrupts him.

Daryl groans, frustration clear in the sound drawn from deep within his chest. “Well I got shit to say, so ya shut up until I’m done, okay?” He demands. The caress of his fingers scratching lightly, tangling into Rick’s beard, serves to ease the harshness of his tone. 

Rick agrees, inclining his head just enough for Daryl to feel the gesture. He’s also pretty sure the hunter can see him despite the dark.

Daryl exhales a shuddering breath, before he says, “I’m gay.”

It’s obvious how much the admission must cost him. His hand, the one still touching Rick, starts shaking, and his heartbeat is loud enough that Rick can hear it in the silence of the prison block. Or maybe it’s his own; he can’t tell. 

“It’s somethin’ I’ve always been,” Daryl continues in a quiet murmur. “Kept it hidden, tried to deny it even to myself, ‘cause growin’ up a Dixon, ain’t no way I woulda survived if anyone knew. My daddy, he ain’t never needed no reason to hate me, an’ ya know all about Merle. So I… got good, at pretendin’. So good, I eventually convinced myself I was cured. Ain’t never found a woman I liked, but that was alright because I ain’t wanted a man, neither. So it was fine.”

Rick listens as the hunter inhales, then exhales, then licks his lips. Then, the motion of Daryl’s fingers on his face halts, and the man says: “I was fine, until you.”

He moves his hand again, rubs down Rick’s chin and neck, then back up his jawline. “When I done went away with Merle, I did it ‘cause I needed to get away from ya,” he confesses. “Felt bad ‘bout it, too, like I was punishin’ ya just ‘cause I couldna deal with my own shit. Then we came back, and Merle died, and then we killed that son of a bitch Governor, and. Ya kissed me. Before that, I thought I could go on hidin’ what I am, I thought nobody ever has to know. But you, you done an’ kissed me, and that was it. Ain’t no way to hide it anymore, not without hurtin’ ya.

“Ain’t never wanted to hurt ya, Rick. Not you, not ever you,” Daryl whispers, and Rick lifts his arm to gently stroke at the skin on the hunter’s forearm. 

“I love you,” he says softly. It’s not a big reveal, he said that earlier, but it still makes Daryl’s breath hitch. Smiling, Rick repeats, “I love you,” and then: “I never want to hurt you, too. Hurt you, or push you into doing things you’re not ready to do, or-”

“‘m ready, though,” Daryl mumbles. 

He sounds shy and hesitant, but before Rick can reassure him that there’s no need to rush this, the hunter takes his hand and pulls to place it on his crotch. Rick gasps sharply at the hardness he finds there, and he can’t help but press the palm of his hand against it, relishing in the feeling of it straining into the touch. He can feel his own body responding to it, the stirrings of his arousal evident in the way the sweatpants he’s been sleeping in tent between his legs. He licks his lips and gently tugs at Daryl’s arm, encouraging the hunter to join him on the cot. Daryl lets himself be pulled right on top of him and, without waiting any longer, leans down to kiss him on the lips. It’s not hard and bruising like it used to be almost every other time before tonight; instead, their lips move against each other as their tongues tangle lazily. Rick wraps his arms around Daryl’s shoulders, keeping him close as he kisses him unhurriedly, thoroughly, loving how the hunter allows him to explore at his own pace for the first time since they got together. One of Daryl’s hands rests at the base of his throat, the other slides into his hair, and Rick moans softly into the hunter’s mouth before regretfully drawing back.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here, darlin’,” he murmurs. “People could hear.”

“Let ‘em,” Daryl replies softly, drawing him back into a kiss, pressing his hips against Rick’s. A needy sound makes its way out of his mouth and into Rick’s, and it’s almost impossible to deny him when he’s like that. 

“If they hear, they’ll know,” Rick whispers against Daryl’s lips, then breathes out a sigh when the hand at the base of his throat tightens, puts more pressure, not enough to choke him, but enough to threaten to do so. It’s possibly the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to him, and Rick can’t help but buck his hips, seeking more friction. He’s harder than he remembers being in a long time, more desperate; it feels like it’s been months, no, _years,_ since the last time he had someone touch him intimately like this. 

Daryl smiles; Rick can feel the way the corners of his lips quirk up into something more than a smirk, but less than a full-on grin. “Ya like this, huh?” He whispers, squeezing his neck very briefly before releasing the hold. Rick can only offer a drawn-out moan in reply, which ends as an entirely pathetic whimper when Daryl suddenly rolls off of him, breaking all contact.

He hears shuffling and rustling, then something hard lands on the pillow beside his head, and Daryl returns to his previous position on top of him. This time, though, there’s naked skin where there was fabric before, and Rick runs his hands across the hunter’s chest and bare arms in wonder. 

Daryl’s never took his shirt off like this before. 

“I want to suck ya off tonight,” Daryl whispers into Rick’s ear just as his hands work their way under Rick’s loose t-shirt. He smoothes them against Rick’s abdomen, then lets one roam up to Rick’s chest where he rubs the palm against a nipple. Rick exhales loudly; he didn’t think he was particularly sensitive in that area, but when Daryl continues his exploration, pinches the hard nub between thumb and forefinger, then tugs lightly on the hairs that grow all over Rick’s chest, he’s forced to reconsider. His whole body feels on fire, and he finds himself wanting, _needing_ anything Daryl might be willing to give him, so much that it takes him a long moment to even register what he’s been told. 

Then, when he realizes Daryl’s waiting for something - a permission perhaps - he nods. “You can have anythin’ you want,” he promises. 

Daryl kisses him again, short and sweet this time, before he pats the pillow next to Rick’s head for what he threw there and then moves down Rick’s body, only pausing to kiss, nibble or suck on any spot that draws his attention along the way. 

“I hate that yer so beautiful,” Daryl whispers into the skin at Rick’s hip where he’s just left a bruise. “Tried so hard to resist ya, but yer makin’ it impossible, don’cha?...”

Rick wants to reply something, maybe compliment Daryl in return - because, hell, if he’s supposed to be beautiful, then what should he be calling Daryl? - but he’s not given a chance to speak. The hunter hooks his fingers under the waistband of his sweats and pulls them down in a swift motion, then helps Rick kick them off completely. It feels so strange, to be completely bared like this in front of the other man, and Rick’s somewhat grateful it’s so dark in the cell. He’s not ashamed of his body, he doesn’t think so, he’s in pretty good shape from all the farming and shit he’s been doing; but the thing is, it’s the first time he’s almost completely naked with Daryl’s face almost nuzzling his crotch, and it’s awkward like all first times are always awkward. 

But Daryl’s not awkward, or at least he doesn’t seem to be. He places a few gentle kisses on Rick’s abdomen where the coarse hairs are the thickest, then sucks a dark bruise just below his hip bone. He places his hands on Rick’s inner thighs to keep his legs spread, then finally dips his head and begins licking curiously at the tip of Rick’s cock. Rick moans, too loud for the silence of the cell block, and he puts his own hands over his mouth to stop any more noises from slipping out; and it’s a good thing he did, because Daryl isn’t anywhere close to being done. He swirls his tongue over the leaking tip, greedily lapping up the pearlescent liquid, and he makes a soft noise when Rick’s hips buck of their own accord. His hands tighten on Rick’s thighs, kneading at the muscles there, and Rick does his best to stop himself from moving lest it makes Daryl change his mind.

The hunter seems far from changing his mind, though; he licks a slow stripe down the underside of Rick’s cock, from tip to base and then back up, and again; he traces the thick vein there with the tip of his tongue. One of his hands lets go of Rick’s thigh to join his mouth. Warm fingers wrap around the base of Rick’s cock and move up and down at a torturously unhurried pace, drawing out wretched noises Rick does his best to stifle with a fist. 

“Quiet now,” Daryl whispers, and before Rick knows what’s going on, the hunter lowers his head to take the length of Rick’s cock into his mouth. He goes slow about it, careful, sliding lower inch by inch until his lips meet the hand wrapped around the base; he hums softly in satisfaction and the vibration causes a jolt of pleasure so intense, Rick almost comes right then and there. But he doesn’t, he only moans Daryl’s name into his fist, and his other hand grasps blindly at the sheets, tightening so hard he thinks he might be tearing them. 

It’s difficult to care about the sheets, however, when Daryl begins to move his mouth up and down Rick’s cock in a steady rhythm. He’s not perfect at this; at times, his teeth scrape against the hard flesh or he sucks too hard, but to Rick, it feels pretty Goddamn perfect anyway because it’s Daryl’s mouth around his cock, Daryl’s hand jerking him, Daryl doing this to him, Daryl _wanting to do this to him._

It’s getting to be too much, too soon, that hot mouth, that firm touch, and Rick can’t keep the noises down anymore, can’t keep them down. As if sensing that he’s close, Daryl suddenly draws back, but not before lapping at the trail of saliva he’s left all over the length. 

“Ya taste good,” he says in a low voice, a new hoarseness to it making Rick want to grab him by the hair and pull him into a kiss. But he doesn’t, because Daryl places a few gentle kisses alongside his cock and lower, licks him at the base and then all over his balls. He inhales greedily, like he can’t get enough of Rick’s scent, and then he shuffles and pushes Rick’s legs up to bend at the knees. 

“Put yer legs on my shoulders,” he commands, and Rick does as he’s told, shivering, unsure what else Daryl’s planning to do to him. He isn’t made to wait long, though; Daryl soon lowers himself again and takes his cock into his mouth, lets it slide all the way down to his throat until it can’t go any further. He doesn’t gag, but he swallows around it a few times and Rick can imagine there might be tears gathering at the corners of the hunter’s eyes. He groans, both at the sensation and at the image, and he bites down on the meat of his hand to stop himself from making any louder noises. 

Daryl’s hand presses itself lower, behind Rick’s balls, dips into the crack between his cheeks, and Rick suddenly realizes why the change of position. He’s torn between wanting to thrust into the wet heat of Daryl’s mouth and pushing himself down against that hand. He whimpers when he feels a slick finger rub gently against his puckered hole; God, but he loves Daryl’s fingers, loves their calloused fingertips, loves how thick they are, loves-

The first finger enters him up to the first knuckle, then withdraws, then pushes in again, and Rick moans helplessly, entranced by the sensation of being stretched so gently. Daryl hums around him and presses his finger further inside, only to crook it sort of upwards, and Rick sees stars when the motion puts pressure on that magic spot deep inside him. 

“Daryl, please, please,” he all but sobs into his hand, and then he thinks he might actually start sobbing when the one finger is joined by another, just as slick, just as thick and warm and wonderful, stretching him so good. Then there’s the third one, and Rick’s whole body is trembling and he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams; he makes a weak attempt to move his hips into either sensation, and he whimpers when Daryl takes his mouth off him. 

The hunter gives one last lick to the tip of his cock and removes his fingers, and he groans softly at the way Rick writhes underneath him, trying to chase the pleasure he’s been robbed of. He pushes Rick’s legs gently off his shoulders and moves up, then wraps them around his waist instead. 

“‘m goin’ to fuck you,” he whispers into the skin at Rick’s throat before he bites down gently, and Rick tangles his hands into Daryl’s hair and frantically pulls him into a deep, sloppy kiss. The taste of his own arousal in Daryl’s mouth drives him near crazy with want. His hands tighten in Daryl’s hair and he thrusts his hips up against Daryl’s, groaning when his naked flesh grinds against denim.

“Get naked,” he demands, or begs, he’s not sure; Daryl chuckles and kisses him, but he nevertheless quickly unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down just enough to expose his cock. He’s not wearing any underwear, he hardly even does, and Rick’s always found it incredibly sexy, but right now, he can’t even think. He’s so turned on, he’s so desperate, he needs this man like he’s burning for him; he feels like his brain is melting, all the more so when another jerky thrust of his hips causes him to finally rub his cock against Daryl’s.

“Rick,” Daryl breathes, and his voice is filled with wonder. He’s so hard, he’s leaking just as Rick has been, and Rick mouth waters when he remembers the taste and the weight of that beautiful cock on his tongue. But that’s for another time. Right now, he needs it inside of him, he needs it more than he’s ever needed anything in his life, and he tries to let Daryl know by drawing him into yet another desperate kiss. 

Either Daryl gets it or he already had the same exact thought, because he kisses back just as fiercely while he lifts Rick’s hips and positions himself at his entrance. When he sinks in, he does it slow and careful, and it’s lucky his mouth is already on Rick’s so he can swallow the cry of his name on Rick’s lips. Only when he’s buried to the hilt does he break the kiss, allowing the both of them some much needed air. 

Rick feels stretched to the limit, but it doesn’t hurt, nor did he expect it to. The thick length of Daryl’s cock inside him fits perfectly, like they were made to fit together like this; with a soft groan, Rick tugs on Daryl’s hair to kiss him again, and at the same time he moves his hips experimentally, loving how the up-and-down motion makes the cock slip out a fraction and then slide right back in. 

“God, Daryl,” he whimpers into his lover’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he breathes. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Daryl groans, and he begins to thrust, slow at first, then faster when Rick adjusts enough to take the increased pace. 

If Rick’s vocal, then Daryl is even more so; they keep kissing to drown out the noises, though Rick has a fleeting thought that maybe he doesn’t really mind the entire prison knowing what’s being done to him. He moans breathlessly when Daryl’s hands and lips find his chest again, and he runs his fingers through the thick tresses of Daryl’s hair, tugging helplessly when a particularly good thrust strikes home. 

“Let me try somethin’,” Daryl mutters, and pulls out before he gets to his knees and draws Rick’s legs against his chest, so that Rick’s ankles rest on his shoulders. He lines himself up and sinks inside Rick again, and the changed angle lets him find that deep spot on first attempt. 

“Here we fuckin’ go,” he says and aims every single thrust right there, and he tries to wrap a hand around Rick’s cock but Rick swats it away.

“Don’t… don’t need-” he whimpers, and Daryl groans and cants his hips just so, and then all of a sudden Rick can’t hold it back anymore, and he cries out, barely remembering to press a hand to his mouth to keep from waking the whole prison as his orgasm washes over him in wave after wave of pleasure so intense, he almost blacks out. 

He feels like he’s floating when Daryl sighs and slowly pulls out. He breathes heavily for a moment, lying on his side next to Rick, and Rick frowns; he was so lost in his own sensations that he somehow missed the moment when Daryl’s orgasm caught up with him. Pity, that, but at least he’s reasonably sure there’ll be time enough in the near future to watch Daryl come undone from Rick’s touch, from Rick’s lips and from his cock and from the tightness of Rick’s body. 

Mmm. If he were any younger, he thinks he might’ve already started getting hard again. 

“Was it really that good?” Daryl asks softly as he reaches for his shirt which he then uses to clean Rick’s cum-stained stomach. He dips the fabric between Rick’s haphazardly spread legs, wipes the mess from there and throws the shirt in the vague direction of the cell door. He settles down on the cot, pressed to Rick’s side, and runs a gentle hand through Rick’s beard. 

“Oh, it was perfect,” Rick assures him contentedly. Because it was. He thought it would be, before, but he never expected it would be _that_ good. His whole body is tingling with deep-rooted satisfaction, sore but fulfilled, and he’s slowly losing the battle against sleepiness. 

“Tomorrow night, yer gonna show me,” Daryl tells him, leaving no room for argument in the matter. Not that Rick would argue. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sitting on needles all day. Sure, that’s partially because his ass is going to hurt, but also because come nightfall, he’ll be allowed to do _things_ to Daryl. He can hardly wait.

“I love you,” he says, drawing the hunter into a loose-limbed embrace. 

Daryl sighs, pulling a blanket over their exposed bodies and burying his face in the crook of Rick’s neck. “Love you, too,” he whispers. Then, he chuckles.

“What?” Rick asks, startled from an almost-asleep state.

Daryl shakes his head, and Rick can feel his smile against his skin. “Nothin’,” the hunter says softly. “Just… Yeah. I’m gay. I’m so fuckin’ gay,” he chuckles again.

Rick rolls his eyes and turns his head to kiss him on the forehead. “Yeah, well. We both are. Now go to sleep,” he suggests. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

*

It’s not ideal between them, after that. Rick didn’t even expect it to be; after all, it takes more than a great fuck or six to undo years of conditioning. Daryl still gets fidgety sometimes, the bullshit taught to him with fists and harsh words comes back to the surface, and the only thing Rick can do is hold on and hold out. But he does. Because he knows it’s worth it, now. He knows that beneath the gruffness and the outbursts, Daryl loves him just as much as he loves Daryl. And isn’t this what matters the most, in the end?

*

(By the third night, Carol hands Rick a key to the A-block. 

“It’s cleared,” she assures him drily. “And empty. And you two are gonna live there from now on.”

“What? Why?” Rick asks, confused. But really, he shouldn’t be, judging by the incredulity on Carol’s face at his innocent questions.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The woman asks, voice raised above what’s considered normal in a conversation between friends. “Rick, if any of us has to hear you and Daryl going at it one more time, someone’s gonna stab you. Either of you. And not in a sexy way.”

Mortified, Rick’s torn between trying to explain himself and denying everything, but under Carol’s mighty glare, he swallows anything he might’ve said otherwise and accepts the key. 

“I’ll… start moving my things,” he promises meekly.

“Yeah. You should do that,” Carol says, tone full of approval. “Also tell Daryl to move his. We’re not taking any risks.”

So, yeah. That happens. Rick thinks he’s never been more embarrassed than at lunch when he has to explain to Daryl why they’re going to have a whole cell block to themselves. For a second, the look on Daryl’s face has him afraid the hunter might decide he’s got enough, that’s it, they’re over - and then he’s being drawn into a loose embrace and Daryl’s lips are on his for a sweet kiss, like he doesn’t care that they’re in a public place. Then, the hunter smirks and asks in a voice loud enough for the entire mess hall to hear:

“So I guess I don’t gotta raid any sex-shops for a gag in the next supply run, after all?”

-and Rick wonders briefly if their relationship wasn’t easier to manage when Daryl was in denial. But he forgets about it soon enough: that night, they christen their new bed, and Daryl screams himself hoarse when Rick puts his tongue inside him and then fucks him raw, and yeah. This way is so much better. 

He just hopes eventually, he’ll be able to look his family in the eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.)

*

(Especially his son. Poor Carl.)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please come yell at me on Tumblr at most--curiously--blue--eyes!


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